Chiaroscuro
by ShadeShifter
Summary: The Alliance has a vested interest in Vin. Vin-centric, obviously. Firefly crossover
1. Chiaroscuro

Part of Crossovers100, more entries can be found at my LJ: shade-shifter(dot)livejournal(dot)com

**Chiaroscuro**

(1)

Vin stared at the prone figure on the ground. Blood pooled and congealed around the man's body. Vin instinctively stepped back; the broken broom, jagged splinters stained red, dropped from nerveless fingers. He bit his lip nervously, ignoring the sting of a cut and the metallic taste that matched the sharp scent in the air.

Fractured thoughts drifted through his mind and refused to coalesce into something solid. He'd left his bunk unmade. Five years since he'd seen his mother's eyes glazed in death. The blood was going to stain and he had cleaning duty tomorrow.

Vin glanced at the doorway through which Jack had long since fled. Little Jack who was the youngest of them all and who seemed to draw the majority of the caretaker's wrath. Vin still had trouble shaking the image of a pale, broken body that had flashed through his mind when the caretaker had dragged Jack away by the collar of his shirt.

The orphanage caretaker groaned softly and moved a hand beneath him, trying to push himself up. Vin trembled and his breath caught in his throat as he watched. The caretaker managed to lift himself a little before he collapsed once more. Vin was galvanized into action. He tentatively reached for the man's pocket only to hesitate. He wasn't sure how aware the man was, and actually touching him somehow seemed to make the whole thing real. Keeping a cautious eye on the man Vin reached into the pocket and pulled out the keycard.

Vin ran to the door, slid the keycard into the slot and watched as the door slid open. A gentle night wind breezed through the open door and Vin tilted his head to one side. He paused long enough to grab the backpack he took everywhere, it held everything he considered too important to be left where someone could steal it. He slipped through the open door.

(2)

Vin clutched his thin jacket tight around him as he wedged himself tightly beneath the stairs. He'd found the first ship going off-world and had snuck in while they carried on the cargo. If he was lucky the trip would be a short one and they wouldn't even notice his presence.

The cold metal of the hull numbed the ache in his limbs, which made his escape both easier and more difficult at once. It numbed the deep aches where bruises bloomed, but it also made his thoughts sluggish.

Regardless of what little he had, a touch to the shoulder reassured him that he still had his backpack, he couldn't help the elation that accompanied the thought of being free of the orphanage.

He didn't remember much from before the orphanage, but he did remember that he had family somewhere in the systems that comprised the Outer Rim. He'd had an aunt who had been willing to fight for him, but she'd lived on the Outer Rim and the Alliance denied her claim. After denying him family they'd abandoned him in an Alliance sponsored orphanage.

The difficult part would be to reach the Outer Rim, from there he'd somehow make his own way. Maybe he'd find his aunt, maybe he wouldn't, either way it was better than the Alliance.

(3)

Vin scrambled from the wreckage of the cargo bay and squinted at the bright sunlight. He turned sharply at the sound of voices, the movement making pain lance through his head. Warmth oozed down his arm and he clamped a hand to his shoulder, wincing at the pressure. He clambered up the small hill of the crater and took quick stock of his surroundings. Dark sand and rock stretched to the horizon, broken only by a deceptive rise and fall of the land, and great pillars of rock that reminded him of home.

As the voices drew closer Vin sneaked along the wreckage of the ship and he was shocked at the destruction the crash had caused, and the fact that they'd survived it. He wasn't sure what had tipped him off, but he was glad that he'd managed to get himself tucked away safely in a corner before the whole thing had begun.

Once the ship was between him and what remained of the crew he took off at a quick, measured run. It would not do to stick around. If they found a stowaway after the ship crashed he had no doubt that they'd blame him.

Hours later Vin's pace had slowed to a hobble after he'd tripped and hurt his ankle, but he hadn't stopped. He knew that stopping now meant death and he had to keep going until he found something.

It hadn't taken him long to realise that walking off wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but the choice had been exposure or the crew he'd left behind. He'd spent enough time on the ship to know that it was better they never even knew about him.

Finally Vin couldn't go any further and he dropped to his knees. He hung his head, trying to draw strength from depleted reserves. A shuffling noise caught his attention and he raised his head to see three men watching him cautiously. They weren't dressed like any people he'd ever seen. They wore animal skins with feathers twined in their hair. One of the men approached him slowly and reached out a hand. Vin hesitated, but these people were new, and maybe that would make all the difference.

(4)

Vin slid down the slope, gravel scattering as he did so. A ship flew over him, leaking coolant as it went. He ignored the brush as it caught at his ankles and shins and scratched his skin.

He skidded to a stop, taking cover behind a series of large boulders that lined a cliff overlooking the small village. He'd come to see the village as a family of sorts. He'd learned a great deal from them, more than he could ever repay.

They called themselves Amerinds, the last of a once rich and varied culture. They spoke no Chinese and only used English when they had to. Vin had had to learn their language just to communicate. Unlike most cultures which had been absorbed into American and Chinese society on the journey from Earth-That-Was, a group of Amerinds had steadfastly clung to their traditions and when the journey was over and everyone was scrambling over the lush Core worlds, the Amerinds had quietly settled on an Outer Rim planet that was undesirable to most others and were promptly forgotten.

He peered over the edge just in time to see Reavers swarm the huts. Screams and cries began to fill the air, until all other sound was drowned out. Vin huddled against the boulders, hands covering his ears, eyes shut tightly against the sight. Blind terror froze him in place.

It was only hours later that Vin dared to raise his head, tears dried in streaks down his cheeks. He peered over the rocks and looked away, dropping down once more. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stave off the burn of tears and the rush of images at once. Bodies lay scattered, rent apart and mangled. Those that were still capable of moving were worse.

People he'd known for two years ripped their own flesh and deformed their features. He turned away, shame filling him at the fact that the village and its people had been desecrated and all he'd done was hide. It had been two years since he'd made these people his family; seven years since he'd watched, helpless, as his mother died. He'd promised then that he'd never put himself in that position again. For a time he'd forgotten that, but he wouldn't again.

(5)

Vin struggled against strong hands that gripped his arms. He'd fled the remains of the village and the Reavers that had remained. Eventually he'd found a rock formation that he'd turned into a shelter and he'd lived for weeks that way. It'd been hard. He'd only just begun to learn how to hunt and search for water, but he'd managed. Now they were trying to take him away again. The Alliance was trying to take away everything that was his again.

"Think he's the one they're looking for?" one of the soldiers asked the other.

"He'd better be with the amount of energy and resources expended on finding him," the second soldier said.

"Don't know what they'd want with a ihwun dan/i like him."

The second one shrugged, answer cut off by a pained grunt when Vin kicked his shin. Vin's arm was wrenched behind his back and he was pushed forward. He stumbled before regaining his balance.

He was brought before an imposing man with broad shoulders and enormous hands that looked like they could crush his skull without trying too hard. Vin glared at the man's shoulder, too scared to meet his eyes.

A firm hand gripped his jaw just a little too tightly and tilted his head first one way then the other. Finally he was forced to look into the man's hard and empty brown eyes. He quickly lowered his gaze, not liking the brutality he saw there. He was only too glad to step back when the man released him.

"He's definitely the one the Academy has been trying to track down. Take him to his quarters."

Vin worked his jaw, trying to ease the feeling of fingers digging into his skin. He wondered where they were sending him and how long it would take him to escape. What the hell was the Academy anyway?

(6)

Vin struggled weakly as a man gripped his arm and inserted another needle. Some days he wasn't sure what was real, but he thought he could feel the drugs winding through his veins, spreading out into his body. He tried to curl up and block it all out but he couldn't. His body was strapped down so securely that there wasn't even room to wriggle, but that didn't matter because his mind didn't belong to him anymore.

Machines whirred and beeped around him and an imager scanned his vitals. He could feel it prickle his skin as it scanned. Machines were cold and solid and empty. A man came and stopped at his side. Vin knew he was there even without opening his eyes.

The man was cold inside, but it was mixed with bitterness and misery and anger. Vin didn't like this man and hadn't sensed him very often. Only when they changed what they were giving him. Sometimes it wasn't any different, sometimes he felt more, and sometimes he felt too much and was lost. He hated those times even more than the ones where they gave him different drugs that made him jittery and his head ache and then they would fit a display over his eyes that flashed images at him. The images never stayed still long enough for him to make sense of them but he always felt sick and disturbed afterwards.

Vin knew that trying to shut down, to shy away from what he was sensing, wouldn't work. He pushed past the man instead. He'd tried pushing out of the building once, trying to sense outside, but it had knocked him out. He didn't know for how long, but from what he overheard it must have been several days.

He sensed another man beyond the man and to his right. This man Vin knew well. He was always there when they drugged Vin. Sometimes the man was scared or worried, sometimes curious. He was usually more curious than scared and that's why Vin hated him, even more than the cold man who didn't care.

"He's not progressing quickly enough," the cold man said.

"He's picking things up faster than the others did."

"He's still behind."

"Jameson thinks there's some sort of brain surgery he can perform that'll make them more susceptible."

Vin's eyes snapped open. He hadn't sensed anything malicious or cruel, just a casual indifference and an eagerness for results. Somehow that was worse. He knew he had to go, had to leave before they made it so he wasn't himself anymore, so he wouldn't ever be himself again.

(7)

When Vin breaks out of the Academy he hides and runs and doesn't stop until he's well beyond the reach of the Alliance and their purple puppets. He can't run from what they've done though, and there's something inside of him that's broken open and he can't get it closed again. The intensity eases off once the drugs are out of his system, but the awareness never leaves him. He knows what he can do now, and he can't unlearn that.

He's not near ready to be around people but he's getting there when an Independent patrol finds him. They take him in, feed him and clothe him, but only from a distance because he startles easily, and there's already a lieutenant whose broken wrist served as a lesson to them all. Vin senses their fear and worry and uncertainty. It never goes away and it gets to the point where he's not sure it's not his as well.

When Alliance soldiers attack the camp two weeks after he arrives Vin reacts almost instinctively. Two years with the Amerinds means that he's good at moving undetected. It's a skill that's proved extremely useful. Almost three years of constant drills at the Academy means that Vin knows how to defend himself and how to use most weapons. He's not sure how to feel about that because the training was brutal, but he'd seen what happened to the kids who were part of the latest experiment, the one that planted the information directly into their brains. One way or another they'd gone insane. Most had died and some had even taken others with them.

When it's over Vin stands, gun in one hand, knife in the other, and watches as men and women in brown coats back away from him. Their fear is almost overwhelming, and it's not the general fear he's been feeling for weeks; it's sharp and brittle and directed at him. He drops the weapons, turns and walks away.

Vin's only taken a few steps when a man jogs up to him and stands in front of him, forcing him to stop. The man stays out of arm's reach and Vin can sense the fear, but it's overlaid by stronger desperation and need. The man wears the insignia of colonel and Vin knows what the man wants from him. He doesn't know what else to do, where else to go, so he lets them point him at the Alliance and pull the trigger.

The Alliance had killed him, destroyed who he was piece by piece and left a shell, so he kills them one by one. He's good at catching them unawares and whatever he senses from his victims is overlaid by the burgeoning sense of hope he's beginning to sense from the Independent troops. It slices through any other emotions and makes him feel light. He comes to crave the feeling so he keeps killing until he's faced with an Alliance politician and his family. He stands, staring at a terrified and trembling five-year-old boy, the boy's father's blood on his hands, and he can't help but see himself.

He hates them both then, both the boy and himself, for being too weak to protect themselves against those that would hurt them. He hates the Alliance and the Independents; one for creating a weapon and the other for using it.

He's an eighteen year-old-veteran of a war that means almost nothing to him.

When Serenity Valley happens a year later, Vin wonders almost idly if his presence would have made a difference one way or the other. He likes to think not, but he suspects differently.

He doesn't know anything anymore but how to hunt and kill, so it's easy enough to fall into the role of bounty hunter. For the first time in his life he's making his own decisions. He's not fooling himself anymore about causes and ideals. He doesn't want to know the stories and the reasons, because they're all tragic, he just wants to do the job and be left alone.

It works just fine for him until he agrees to go after River Tam.


	2. Bounty

Part of Crossovers100, more entries can be found at my LJ: shade-shifter(dot)livejournal(dot)com

**Bounty**

"River Tam," Vin said as he carefully aimed his gun, ready to shoot but not entirely willing. He hadn't figured on her being a girl looking so very young in her summer dress.

"No," the brother declared, moving to stand between the bounty hunter and his sister. Vin swung the gun smoothly to aim at Simon who stilled. "You can't take her back. They'll hurt her."

"You're just like me," River murmured, staring at him with her head cocked to one side. She stepped around Simon and moved forward, slow and hesitant, as though he was delicate and if she was too harsh or forceful he might fall to pieces and blow away.

"River," Simon warned as he watched the bounty hunter carefully. As usual, she ignored him.

"There's a wild thing trapped inside you. Only they didn't put it in you, it grew in you, unfettered and untamed."

She stared at him, stared through him. He tore his gaze from hers, looking at some point over her shoulder so he could keep an eye on her without having to actually meet her eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Vin said tightly.

"All those nights alone and scared. You didn't have a brother to rescue you."

She wandered closer and Vin backed away several steps, trying to keep his distance from the creature shaped like a girl, because it wasn't human the way she knew things.

"They dug into my brain, but they didn't touch my soul." She stepped forward once more and placed her hand over his heart. "They left yours broken open and scarred."

"Stop it," Vin all but begged. His arm dropped, gun held loosely.

"An angel will find you," she told him earnestly, searching his eyes to make sure he understood. "Dressed all in black, death will follow him. He won't come for you but you'll go with him anyway."

"Go," he told her. "Leave."

Simon didn't wait for the bounty hunter to change his mind. He grabbed River's arm and pulled her away, ready to drag her if necessary, but she came easily. River turned back to look at Vin once more.

"When he finds you, the rest of it won't matter anymore."


	3. Alliances

Part of Crossovers100, more entries can be found at my LJ: shade-shifter(dot)livejournal(dot)com

This was actually written almost a year ago and I forgot to post it here.

Chinese folklore has been altered slightly, but it's supposed to take into account the close association Chinese and American culture have had for several hundred years.

**Alliances**

Joseph Kemp's first real memory is of a foal, young and untameable. Its breath mists in the cold air and its sides heave with the exertion of defiance. When he's older and his father tells him the story, he learns that it was born wild and they'd never managed to break it in. Eventually they'd had to put it down.

That's what Joe thinks about when he sees the boy crouched in front of his squad. He can't be more than sixteen or seventeen, if that, but he has a wary stance that Joe knows takes more years of practice than any boy should have.

"It's alright," he says softly, making slow, deliberate motions with his hands. The boy cocks his head to one side and relaxes his stance a little. Joe motions for the others to back away. The boy's eyes flick from person to person with each movement.

"We can help," Joe tells him and unhooks his canteen. He places it on the ground in front of him and steps back, out of reach. Joe knows the boy must be thirsty – he's too thin and his lips are dried and cracked – but he doesn't move.

"Colonel, we don't have time for this," Ware grouses. At the sound the boy's eyes snap to Ware and his expression hardens as he drops smoothly into a ready crouch once more.

Joe keeps his expression neutral though he wants to thrash Ware for ruining the little progress he's made. Ware isn't the sort of man who suits military life, but then the Independents aren't too picky about who they recruit. Willing and mostly able seem to be the required minimum. It makes Joe, a military man all his life, a little resentful about the degree to which their forces have deteriorated.

The boy's eyes narrow as he turns to look at Joe and for the first time Joe gets the impression that the boy isn't just wild, he's unnatural too. Like the spirits his uncle used to tell him about when he was a kid, the ones that live in the land and transform into humans to trick people.

"Come on kid," Joe says, "we don't want to hurt you." Joe knows the kid understands him because there is such distrust in the kid's gaze that the suspicion of what must have happened to him is an almost physical ache that skewers through his gut.

Joe sighs and indicates for his squad to continue. They need to get back to camp by nightfall and they still have two hours of marching ahead of them. He follows in their wake, bringing up the rear. After several steps he can't resist the urge to look back, but both boy and canteen are gone. He can't shake the feeling of eyes watching him.

* * *

When Joe wakes in the morning and makes his routine sweep of the perimeter he notices the boy following covertly behind him. Somehow, despite all his training, he gets the impression that he only sees the boy because the boy wants him to.

When the boy starts to lag behind Joe stops and sits on the trunk of felled tree. The boy stops several feet away, out in the open, but with tension in every line of his body. Joe pulls out his canteen, a newly requisitioned one, and takes a sip.

The boy steps forward cautiously, every sense focused on Joe, and places the old canteen on the ground. He steps back just as slowly. When Joe picks up the canteen he can feel from the weight that it's empty. He screws the lid back on his new one and puts it on the ground where the boy put the old one. After a moment he places his apple there too.

The boy doesn't move, even when Joe backs further away, so he takes the hint and leaves. When he returns the next morning his canteen is still there but the apple is gone. He swaps out the now empty canteen for another full one and this time leaves a few sandwiches and a change of clothes in the smallest size he could find.

* * *

Joe runs when he hears the first scream. He pushes past branches that slap at him and stumbles into what barely passes for a clearing. Ware is on his knees, arm twisted painfully behind his back.

The boy stands above him, teeth bared in a snarl.

Another soldier, Joe is both ashamed and resigned that he doesn't know the soldier's name, aims his weapon with trembling hands at the boy. Joe can gather what's happened with just a glance. Ware and his friend were undoubtedly tormenting the boy.

"Stand down," he orders the soldier. The man looks at him briefly before returning his gaze to the boy. "Stand down!" he commands more firmly. The soldier hesitates then lowers his weapon. Ware gives his friend a look of pure disgust.

"Come on kid, let him go." The boy's gaze is impassive and Joe tries to convince himself the shiver down his spine is from the early morning chill. "He won't bother you again, I promise."

Ware is pushed forward with a sharp twist that makes another scream pierce the air. He collapses to the ground, clutching his misshapen arm to him. The boy says nothing as he turns to go but the warning is clear.

"That boy isn't natural," Ware warns, voice tight with pain and anger.  
Joe can't disagree entirely, no matter how much he wants to.

* * *

Joe leaves a coat with the bundle of food because the nights can get a little chilly and the boy has no other protection.

"Thanks."

At first Joe thinks he imagined the response, but then he turns at the rustling of leaves and looks up. The boy is perched in a tree and Joe has long since given up chastising himself for not noticing him.

"You're welcome," he says after a moment. They watch each other and the silence stretches, thin and brittle, like reality can shatter the moment and the boy will just disappear. Joe is unnerved by the way the boy regards him, as though Joe is small and interesting, a passing curiosity.

"What's your name?" Joe asks, hoping the boy will continue to speak. The boy watches him, head tilted to one side, and Joe wonders if it was just a once-off.

"Yaomo."

Demon. Joe thinks he's just parroting what the soldiers have been saying about him, but one look at the boy's expression, and the defiance in his eyes, dissuades Joe.

"I think Hujian is more appropriate," Joe says casually.

"Fox," the boy murmurs and shrugs. He seems amused.

* * *

Joe's brain is still trying to comprehend the speed and efficiency Hujian used to kill the Alliance troops. He has no idea how the Alliance found them, but at the moment he's more concerned with Hujian, who stands in the middle of the encampment, shaking and spattered with the blood of their enemies.

Weapons drop from hands that immediately clench into fists and Joe can't help a flinch at the abrupt movement. It seems wrong to see a child covered in blood, but Joe can't think of Hujian as a child anymore, not after he's seen Hujian massacre an entire patrol pretty much on his own. Hujian begins to walk, the sound of his usually silent footsteps unaccountably loud in the quiet. Joe can feel his heart thundering in his chest but one thing is clear; the Alliance is further into their territory than they anticipated and they've just found a weapon that's fast and almost undetectable.

He runs to catch up with Hujian and stands in front of him, hands making calming motions. Hujian looks up at him and resignation gives way to determination. Joe knows that Hujian understands but he says it anyway.

"We need you."

* * *

There's no emotion in Hujian's expression as Joe details his first assignment. The only thing that reminds Joe of the boy he found weeks ago is the slight tilt to his head and the feeling that Hujian knows far more than he should.

"Got it?" Joe asks and Hujian nods, the movement sharp. All his movements these days are sharp, as though the air cleaves where it touches him and falls away in tatters.

When Hujian walks out Joe can't decide if the ball of not-quite dread settled in his stomach is fear or regret. He doesn't examine it too closely.

* * *

When Hujian disappears three years later Joe isn't surprised. There are rumours that he's dead, that he's returned to the wilds, that he stole enough life to transform, but Joe hopes that he just walked away.

It never settled well, using a child to fight a war. For a time he convinced himself that Hujian wasn't a child, hadn't been one in a long time, but the longer the war continues and the more boys – younger and younger every year it seems – he sends to death, the less he believes it.

It is only with the pragmatism gained from facing what is, and probably always was, a hopeless cause that he realises he's no better than those who shaped Hujian. Worse, in some ways, because he tied a scared and lonely boy to people he could never belong with and a place he could never call home.


End file.
